


fill with fire; exhale desire

by ironicallyinternational



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human/Troll Society, Alternia, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, I know this sounds like bad OC fic but I swear its a well-plotted intrigue, Long Shot, M/M, POV Original Character, POV Outsider, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Quadrant Confusion, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-12 11:01:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5663761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ironicallyinternational/pseuds/ironicallyinternational
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stroim Prelth is an ambitious, hard-working blueblood whose main desire is to impress his boss enough to climb some further ranks, but it's hard doing just that when Zahhak is distressed about more assassination plots to usurp the Empress. </p><p>Assigned with an observation post to monitor Dave Strider and Karkat Vantas, two radically different people with radically different views, Stroim begins to think that perhaps being posted to file Legislator Pyrope's teeth doesn't sound so bad after all.</p><p>(1/3)</p>
            </blockquote>





	fill with fire; exhale desire

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this idea for about two years now, and I hope it worked out- this fic contains lots of socio-political Alternian intrigue, and the first chapter is sort of light on the davekat, so if you're looking for cutesy fluff this definitely isn't where to look. I apologize for the heavy load of Original Character, but I really wanted to expose the context of Dave and Karkat's meeting- I promise the few OCs aren't huge Mary-Sues, though.

(one.)

Stroim Prelth prided himself on his impeccable record.

With blood as blue as his, people were often surprised he'd never slipped up and killed the wrong person, or went off in a rage-filled haze. But for all his stereotypical strength and build, Stroim wasn't one for unnecessary violence- of course, he took out whomever he had to, whenever he had to, and didn't mind it, but he much preferred his administrative work at the palace.

This clean record, of course, had proven very valuable in helping him climb ranks- amidst all the other trolls, and even humans, it was difficult to gain the superiors' attention, but showing that he was both unscrupulous and very disciplined had pushed him sweeps further up the professional ladder.

As an ambitious, successful highblood, he'd been both delighted and internally terrified when his boss had walked into his office and told him he'd been promoted to work in Equius Zahhak's department.

Zahhak was probably the most influential blueblood in all of Alternia- the man was both freakishly strong, and extremely hard-working (not to mention very concerned with the hemospectrum). Because of these attributes, Zahhak was the head of a major military branch- his responsibilities namely included the construction of the Imperial vessels and weapons, and the management of Her Imperial Condescension's personal bodyguard. Although Zahhak spent most of his time designing and building new things, he managed to also pour a lot of energy into supervising the Empress' guard, and checking in on all the administration his duties included.

Stroim had been assigned to a quite solid position in administration, with a possibility to integrate one of the protection squadrons.

His next few months had been spent arriving early and leaving late each day, adding an extra page to assignments and sending his reports in days in advance. It was during this period of work, whilst he was determined to prove himself superior to his coworkers, that he started seeing Zahhak around.

The man was a professional, a perfectionist, and somewhat of an oddball- he held himself strangely, almost hunched over, as if acutely aware of his own strength, and spoke in clipped, precise sentences. He also seemed to remain in a permanent state of unease- at some moments, he seemed nothing short of awkward, and he was often breaking out into a nervous sweat. (Running jokes about that never ceased.)

On the whole, though, for all his snobbery and awkwardness, Zahhak was surprisingly decent- there was very little cruelty in his actions, and he treated all his subordinates quite fairly.

Stroim was pretty satisfied with himself.

–---

Four extremely odd things happened to him on the day Zahhak called him in.

First off, the human that worked in the office next to Stoim's had came in to congratulate him on surviving the year.

Humans were rarer than trolls in administration, especially around people like Zahhak, who worked with HIC herself, but Micheal was a shrewd type, and impossible to find fault with.

Stroim had thanked him, even though he himself had forgotten all about it. The Empress had only established “human calendars” a few years ago, so most trolls were still unused to the new system.

The second strange occurrence was rather more remarkable.

At lunch break, Stroim had headed down to the executive cafeteria where his floor's workers ate, sitting with his usual group of coworkers, Chakra, Isimon and Geitra.

“You see today's news?” Chakra had asked, tone bored but dark green eyes keen, as she took a sip of her drink.

“I missed the mail on the way out.” Stroim answered, just as Isimon and Geitra both shook their heads.

Smirking smugly, she pulled her tablet out and pushed it towards them.

There was a pause as the three trolls read and re-read the title.

Isimon let out a low whistle.

“Legislator Pyrope declares: justice to be given for attack on oliveblood neighborhood.” Stroim read, raising a brow.

“She's insane.” Geitra said, sounding impressed nevertheless.

“Yeah, but she's good. Pyrope's practically untouchable.” Isimon countered.

“Oh, please. We all know Serket was involved in the attack, and there's no way Pyrope can go against her without the Empress interfering.”

Serket, indeed, was a very known figure around the palace halls.

One of the Empress' one favourite “diplomats”, she was ruthless, violent and manipulative, and it was public knowledge she was involved with a number of criminal associations. The only problem, of course, was the utter lack of proof against her; as Serket had what humans aptly described as “the devil's luck”.

Chakra sipped thoughtfully on her drink. “I don't know...”

Turning her gaze to Stroim, she continued: “I get the feeling Pyrope herself is in the Condesce's good books. Haven't you heard those rumours...?”

Stroim frowned. “You mean the ones about the group she's creating? Hardly sounds believable.”

“But they do have a lot of evidence to support them. I mean, if it's one per set of colours, then you'd have Ampora, Zahhak, Serket, Pyrope, and maybe even Makara.” Isimon argued.

“What about the lowbloods?” Geitra interjected. “It's not like HIC considers any of them influential, regardless of their impact on lowblood communities.”

“Well, there's Maryam.” Stroim pointed out, unconvinced nevertheless.

“I suppose she's pretty influential, but she's a Ragripper, not a Laughassassin or a Subjuggulator.” Chakra said, shaking her head in dismissal. “I think that theory's quite far-fetched, anyway. Maybe they're important figures, but they have nothing in common, and they don't even operate in the same circles.”

Isimon pulled a face, but said nothing, as Geitra snorted.

“You never know, with the Empress. Next thing we know, she'll have assembled a squad of humans as the new Alternian elite.”

Their laughter was cut short by a door slamming open loudly, as Zahhak entered the room.

The cafeteria quietened for a moment in respectful silence, as he walked over to his table, followed by a few anxious coworkers.

“He looks pretty stressed.” Chakra said, stealing one of Isimon's grapes.

“He always looks pretty stressed.” Stroim replied, looking back at Zahhak regardless.

“He looks more stressed than usual, though.” Isimon pointed out, lowering his voice. “You know, they say his moirail is an olive-blood. Maybe she was harmed in the attack.”

“If they'd been harmed then, why would he be worried now? It's been a week. Besides, look at the guy. If his moirail was harmed, he'd probably wreck the building.” Chakra quipped.

“And those rumours change the whole time. Last week someone was saying his moirail was Ampora.” Stroim said, as the others snickered.

“Ampora? Who the hell came up with that?” Isimon chuckled.

Geitra shrugged. “Don't know. But he does cover up his ring, so why not?”

Zahhak did, in fact, own a diamond ring, proof of his very long-lasting moirallegiance, but the stone on it was covered by a silver casing.

Why Zahhak hid his moirail's blood colour was anyone's guess.

Conversation started again, on a different topic, until everyone's lunch hour was interrupted by yet another loud noise.

The trolls all around them pulled their weapons out instinctively as a window nearby was smashed into pieces by a blurred figure.

The cafeteria's loud cries fell silent as the figure stood straight, shaking the glass off with not a care in the world.

Stroim stared, baffled, as an olive-blood with baggy sweatpants, a tanktop and neon blue fingerless gloves gave him a grin as she surveyed the cafeteria.

Her gaze fell on someone in the back of the room. She beamed.

“Equius!”

As one, the stunned trolls turned to follow her gaze.

Zahhak made a despairing noise.

“Nepeta...!”

That was when five security agents came bursting through the door, faces pale and terrified.  
“Mr Zahhak, please, we tried to stop her-”

“She scaled the building, sir-”

“Couldn't get here before her-”

Zahhak merely waved them away tiredly as the so-called Nepeta casually made her way over to him.

“What the everloving mother grub.” Chakra hissed under her breath. Stroim felt compelled to agree.

“Nepeta! I have told you time and time again that I am not to be disturbed at work! And scaling the windows and destroying government property is absolutely unacceptable!” Zahhak said, waving a hand around to point at the broken glass.

She laughed. “Oh, chill out! I'm sure there are some poor overworked people around here who'd be more than happy to suck up to you and clean the mess.”

“Anyway, I was just super excited about the news! Can you believe Legislator Pyrope even did that? I'm sure it's got something to do with that Karkitty of hers...”

Zahhak spluttered, as the rest of the room started to process the information. “Nepeta! Don't gossip- besides, I told you to forget about that horrendous lowblood.”

“Blah, blah, blaaaah.” Nepeta groaned, jumping onto the bench next to him. “Hey, can I have some of your lunch? I'm positively starving.”

“Holy shit!” a big-horned troll yelped, much too loudly. “Is that his moirail?”

The duo turned around in unison.

“Hi there!” Nepeta beamed, showing off a row of gleaming, pointy little teeth. “I'm Nepeta Leijon, this grumpy troll's moirail! Nice to meet you all. Sorry about the window!”

Zahhak groaned, burying his head in his arms as she cheerfully stole another piece of meat from his sandwich.

Conversation exploded across the room.

“I told you so!” Isimon exclaimed, eyes wide.

Chakra clapped sarcastically, having schooled her face back into its usual state of apathy.

Geitra sighed. “That's so cute, though...Imagine being pale enough for someone that you don't care they're a lowblood.”

“Especially considering it's Zahhak.” Stroim said, pulling a face. “Today has been so weird, I don't even want to know what the hell is going to happen next.”

He turned around to catch a glimpse of the pair, who were now conversing animatedly.

Huh. Zahhak was full of surprises.

–--

He'd been sitting at his desk scrolling down the trending twitter hashtags (namely #meowrails) to catch up on the news when the third strange occurrence took place.

“Stroim? Someone here for you.” Micheal warned, before a familiar voice came from his door.

“Well, well, Prelth. Slacking off, are we?”

Stroim whirled around, bristling, to find his kismesis grinning down at him.

“What are you doing here?”

“Don't sound so happy, it's unbecoming.” Meerst Thrant said smugly, glancing around the room dismissively. “And this is your office, huh?”

Stroim growled. “You're not allowed to be here.”

“Actually,” Meerst sing-songed, “I've been promoted. I'll be coming here every Tuesday! Comes with working for the Prince, I guess.”

At the unbearable smugness of his tone, Stroim had to physically force himself not to launch himself at the other troll.

Instead, he raised an unimpressed brow. “Oh, yeah, Ampora.... Funny how you've worked for him for sweeps and he wouldn't even recognize you if you came up to him.”

Meerst's smirk receded slightly, his eyes narrowing. “What, because you eat lunch with Zahhak these days? Please. Besides, Zahhak's a joke- especially with his charming little pale-mate.”

Stroim glared, and was about to respond when an impeccably dressed jade-blood coughed from the doorframe.

“Mr Prelth, if you please. Mr Zahhak wants you to come to his office.”

Hiding his own surprise, Stroim pushed himself up and followed her, making sure to bump into his kismesis on the way out.

“I guess I am having lunch with Mr Zahhak after all.”

The look on the other troll's face was priceless.

–---

Zahhak's office was strangely disorganised.

Every single paper was impeccably filed, everything perfectly in place, but scraps of metal lied everywhere on his desk. The man himself sat behind it, brows furrowed as he gazed at the folder open in front of him. His dark hair was pulled into a neat pony-tail, his reading glasses impossibly straight on his prominent nose.

Once again, Stroim was struck by the odd way he had of holding himself- the man was imposing by stature, and yet almost shy in the way he sat, shoulders hunched and hands clasped together.

“Mr Zahhak?”

The troll looked up, his face registering no surprise.

“Prelth. Good aftermorrow.”

He stood, extending a meaty paw to shake. Stroim gripped it firmly, conscious that the other troll was probably holding back- he still had to avoid wincing at the strong shake he received.

They sat down, and Zahhak folded his hands together, surveying him seriously.

His ring was uncovered, Stroim noticed, the large and shiny peridot very clear against the silvery band. He wondered how solid the band must be to resist the troll's strength and size.

“You must be wondering why I called you here, an understandable question.” Zahhak started. “But I assume you have an idea. I shall not waste any words, Prelth- you are an efficient, capable troll, with fine blood and excellent self-discipline.”

Here, he paused to dab at his forehead with a blue tissue. “You have, of course, been working up to a certain level of prestige, hoping to integrate our (noble and mighty) Empress' chosen few. You have proved to be professionally able, a fast worker, a troll with a healthy life-style, and quite capable. If the position was one like you currently occupied, to be quite frank, you would already have the job.”

Zahhak paused, looking back down at the folder. Stroim stayed silent, flattered and tense.

“The, ah, protection squadrons, operate in a vastly different way. You would, of course, spend a lot of your time working as you do now, which is to say reviewing dangerous cases, sorting them, analysing their profiles, and so forth. However, as the squadrons have much more limited numbers, and are obviously much more, ah, elite, they focus on certain specific cases. You would have to be prepared to get a new case at random times, review it for even weeks on end, observe it “on the spot”, judge for yourself what kind of danger it poses to the government or the Empress, and if necessary, eliminate it.”

Zahhak stopped, and looked at him, eyes sharper than Stroim had ever seen them before.

“Do you believe you are cut out for this work?”

Stroim remained silent for a moment, pensive, mind working at the speed of light, before nodding firmly.

“Yes, sir.”

Zahhak nodded, solemnly.

“In that case, your trials start now. Survive them without making mistakes, and in a handful of cy- I mean months from now, you could very well have secured your new position.”

–---

He had to admit, the trials were insane.

From the crazy intense workload he got to the absolute batshit things he had to go up against, everything seemed straight out of a B-list spy movie, minus the cringe-worthy happy ending.

Oftentimes, his “missions” were waiting for him when he arrived, so he had to avoid getting blown to pieces the moment he entered the building.

Other times, they seemed like the most innocent of grubs, until one tiny detail turned out to be enough to make him have to go finish them off.

He shoved the vague guilt down very firmly. The system had no time for the weak.

Meerst, of course, called all his stories utter bullshit, just to make him seethe, while even Avisya found a lot of them hard to believe.

“I'm not making this up! He blew his brains out!”

“Of course, dearest. I just can't understand why they shot him and not you, if you're at the same level.”

“How am I meant to know? They told us it was an interrogation mission!”

At the screeching levels his voice was reaching, his moirail sighed and papped him from where he lay with his back to her chest.

“Hey, calm down, Stroim. I know the trials are stressing you out, but they're almost over.”

He groaned, trying to recollect himself.

As he squirmed, the sky blue blooded troll continued talking, offering him a welcome distraction: “So, seems like those rumours about the Empress' elite crew are starting to look pretty likely, huh?”

“What, you mean the whole thing with the humans?”

“Uh huh.”

“Still sounds like bull to me. I get that we've gotten hints thrown at us pretty hard, but even if you concede that she's maybe forming some kind of bizarre zodiac grid, then why'd she get the humans on board?”

Avisya shrugged. “I don't know. But those Strider-Lalondes are definitely trouble.”

Stroim heaved a sigh. “Humans. Who wants 'em?”

The Alternian Empire's constant expansion had hit a bump when they'd encountered Earth, eons ago. Turned out the very monarchs on the planet were the same figures religious trolls had been worshipping since forever- the Condesce, though very firmly not a believer, had been obliged to negotiate rather than destroy when confronted with complaints at home and a powerful enemy abroad.

Nowadays, the time of monarchs and mysticism had long gone on Earth- but humans and trolls lived pretty mixed lives. Although humans were much fewer on Alternia than on Earth and vice-versa, they were grudgingly accepted by Alternian society. A lot of aspects of both societies had been thrown about, until they'd achieved a weird mix of both- Earth was still much more human, sure, but there were hints of troll there just as there were hints of human on Alternia.

For all that, it was rare for humans on Alternia to cause a big fuss- unlike what this particular lot was doing.

Dirk Strider, Roxy Lalonde and co were all rather loud in clamouring their anti-caste views, not to mention anti-highblood and even anti-empress ones- rather odd when you considered that they were both working for the Earth’s Alternian Embassy.

The scandal was heightened by the pair's important status on Earth, and by their strong ties to both of the Condesce's highest Ambassadors: Jane Crocker and Jake English.

Still, the so-called Strilondes were smarter than they seemed, and though hardly discrete, no one was ever able to find something to accuse them of- evidence seemed to disappear every time it was needed.

For the moment, the pair remained merely a glamorous source of gossip- especially now that their “siblings” had returned from a long séjour on Earth.

Avisya interrupted his train of thought by humming thoughtfully. “I don't know. I quite like humans. And those Strilondes certainly aren't bad looking.”

Stroim snorted. “Ah, yes, your incomprehensible attachment to humans. How could I forget?” When she merely sighed in response, he added, more gently: “Well, as long as you don't start a matespritship with Roxy Lalonde, I'm not complaining.”

At that, she laughed. “Damn. There go my plans for tonight.”

Stroim laughed, relaxed, and let himself forget all about his trials for the night.

–---

His own involvement in the so-called “Condesce's crew” started during the last chapter of his trials.

His assignment? Jane Crocker.

Thankfully, this task gave no hint of an execution, but only of an observation.

He didn't want to even think of harming Jane fucking Crocker.

Not only was the human almost certainly capable of going bat-shit, but it felt very much like a trap.

Spying on HIC's protégée? No thanks.

Still, he had no choice but to comply, spending the week trailing the curvy, dark-skinned human around as she went about her normal activities.

Crocker was a strangely sweet and sensitive type, considering her position, but she was also highly-strung and fussy. Her conversations with anyone usually left her banging her head against a table, and regular encounters with Strider, Lalonde and English did nothing to lessen her amounts of stress.

Her days were quite similar, mainly consisting of working in her office, going out for lunch with English and/or others, inspecting her inferiors' work, going back to her office, receiving a call from the Condesce's offices and going home.

Her free time was spent baking, sleeping, or going for walks in the company of her closest friends- her cousin Egbert, for one, or even her new-found partner Nitram.

All in all, Crocker did very little to arouse suspicion- unless you counted the enormous amounts of influential phone calls she carried out.

It was on the seventh day of his assignment that something out of the ordinary finally happened.

By the end of the office day, Stroim had been finishing up his report.

"Conclusively, Crocker has proven to be nothing but an efficient worker, with no sign of external allegiances. Her bonds with several high-level persons of importance do make her a figure of influence, but even her close ties with level three individuals have not shown themselves to be a problem. All in all, though close monitoring of her more delicate conversations is advised, Crocker does not currently appear to pose a threat to Her Imperious Condescension's state, reign or other vulnerable-"

His pondering whether the word vulnerable would offend his higher ups was interrupted by Crocker's exit. Putting his file away, he straightened and went after her.

Stroim kept up with her pace easily, staying a safe distance away, eyes seemingly pointed towards the taxi lane.

His target didn't notice, too wrapped up in a rather heated phone call to do so.

“...know, Tavros, we can't just get bloody implicated in that sort of nonsense! This is the second time she's followed you- can't you just...?”

He'd moved closer to eaves-drop, but her voice dropped.

She...now that was interesting. Who could be following Nitram around? The guy was harmless.

He pulled back as she turned into one of the smaller streets that led to the park.

This, however, proved to be a mistake.

“Uh. Can I help you?” Jane's voice rang out uneasily.

The change of tone made him crawl around the corner faster than he would have.

From the darkened spot he stood in, he could distinguish three figures- Crocker, whose stance had turned cautious, and two rather large trolls with vaguely blue blood.

“Jane Crocker, is it?” Idiot number one questioned, grin revealing appropriately sharp teeth.

“Why, yes, it is.” Crocker replied, hand inching to her side.

Idiot number two reached out to stop her.

“Now, now, we only want to ask a few questions.”

At that, Crocker tugged away urgently, making him stumble, but as she turned to run she was blocked by his co-worker.

Her voice was sharp when she spoke again, although slightly panicked: “You'll regret it if you do this.”

He simply laughed in return. “Sure.”

It was when Idiot number two took a suspicious bottle out of his pocket that Stroim intervened.

“We have a problem here?”

The three whirled around in surprise. Stroim stood as tall as possible, making sure that his badge glinted in the fading light, scowl firmly in place.

“None at all. Human here just been causing us some trouble.” Idiot number one lied gruffly, eyeing the badge.

“Oh, really?” Stroim asked, sneering.

Before they'd had the time to reply, he'd flipped his knife out of his pocket and brought it down hard into Idiot number one's stomach. The troll gave a screech of pain as the poisoned blade started gnawing at his insides, falling to the ground and writhing.

Stroim spun around, ready to do the same to the second troll, only to find Crocker pinning him to the ground with two prongs of a seemingly magical fork thing driven through his shoulder.

Stroim bent to slam his head against the ground, hard. As the troll lost consciousness, he stood up, nodding to the human as she pulled her weapon out with a look of disgust.

“You all right?”

“Fine, thanks.” Crocker said, wiping off the blood. She shot him a grateful look. “Thank you for your help. I was rather in a pickle, I'm afraid.”

“Don't thank me. Anyone would have done the same.” Stroim replied, pulling his knife out of the other troll and carefully cleaning it. “Where'd you pull that thing out of?”

“What, this?” Crocker asked, blinking at her red forked weapon. “It's expendable.”  
She folded it neatly into a smaller, pronged object that just fitted into her bag.

“Zahhak made?” Stroim questioned as he stood up again.

She smiled, her slightly prominent blunt teeth evident as she did so. “No, a friend designed this one. But the model has been reused.”

“You going to be all right getting home?”

“Oh, yes. I'll be more alert, in any case.”

Stroim cast her a dubious look, as if he didn't know she lived only a few more minutes away.

The human sighed. “Honestly, I'll be fine. I only live at the other side of the park.”

“In that case, I'll be going.”

“Well, thank you again, Mr...?”

“Prelth. Stroim Prelth.”

“Thank you, Mr Prelth.”

“It was no problem, Miss Crocker.”

“I suppose we'll have to leave these two here?”

“I doubt they're the kind we can get imprisoned.”

“I thought as much.” She sighed, giving the two a disgruntled look before smiling at him. “Good night, then!”

Stroim watched her go thoughtfully.

Well, there went the end of his mission.

“Oh, gog- you bulgelicker, I'll have you killed-” Idiot number two groaned.

Stroim gave him a Look.

“Don't bother making things worse for yourself, buddy.”

As he turned and left, he mentally added a sentence to his report.

Crocker also shows herself to be capable of self-defence.

Avisya was going to be delighted.

–--

After the Crocker incident, he only had to take out a few psychopaths to finally gain the rank he'd been working for.

The end of his trials and his subsequent promotion would probably have made him happier if he hadn't spend the next two days recovering in his flat.

Loud, aggressive banging dragged him out of his pain-induced haze on day three.

The sight of his furious moirail standing outside his door made him wish for a rematch with the rogue subjuggulator he'd taken out.

“Stroim Prelth.” Avisya hissed out, teeth bared in a terrifying scowl, “You're a dead troll.”

A lot of insults and shouting later, however, he found himself bandaged, clean and sitting on a comfortable couch covered in blankets and sipping a hot drink.

“You're still a despicable being and I hate you very platonically.” Avisya muttered, her loopy horns digging into his shoulder as she squeezed in next to him.

“'M sorry.” Stroim mumbled, for the hundredth time.

“I was so worried, you don't even-”

Her sentence dissolved into a frustrated groan.

“You didn't have to do all of this.” Stroim tried, recollecting some of his usual composure. “I would have been fine.”

The glare he received was answer enough.

“Not that I'm ungrateful,” he hastened to add. “I- I'm glad you're here, you know. The two of us.”

At that, her anger seemed to fade a bit more.

“Don't mention it. Although, uh.”

The sudden vaguely guilty amusement in her tone was enough to make all his comfort vanish.

“What is it?” Stroim managed, praying to the high gods his peace and quiet wasn't about to be interrupted.

Avisya was definitely hiding a grin when she spoke again. “You may have forgotten, but I'm not the only quadrant mate you have.”

Stroim blinked, deciphered her sentence, and paled. “Oh, shit.”

At that precise moment, a door slammed open downstairs.

“Prelth, I swear to the Condesce I'll end you, you no good-” Meerst's enraged hissing only grew louder as his treacherous moirail started giggling.

Stroim reflected that he really should've let that purple blood finish him off.

–--

Zahhak stopped by his new office to congratulate him, stoic and awkward as always, when he returned from the week long break he'd been given.

“Thank you, sir. I'm honoured to be here.”

“Ah, Prelth- we've received news of a rather delicate few operations, so I'm afraid we'll be joining forces with another department for a while. I hope it doesn't bother you.”

“Of course not, sir.”

Zahhak surveyed him, hesitating, before saying almost apologetically: “I'm sure your attitude remain be nothing short of professional.”

Stroim nodded, perplexed though he was.

Things were explained when he headed down to their meeting and a drawl well-known by all Alternians reached his ears.

“...honestly, Zahhak, I don't see why you can't just hand the glubbin' operation to me.” Eridan Ampora complained, his attitude as obnoxious as ever. “Unless you think I ain't capable of handling it, I don't-”

“Of course not, Mr Ampora,” Zahhak said tersely, his usual courtesy sounding strained. “But I am under orders, as you are, and our orders ask for collaboration. I doubt that you wish to go against Her Imperial Condescension's orders.”

Stroim entered the room to find the two standing by the head of the table, Zahhak stiff and sweating whilst Ampora made a strangled noise. The contrast between the two was blatant- Zahhak's rigid professionalism, simple attire and brute strength against Ampora's heavily decorated self, pompous demeanour and aristocratic sense of authority.

As the sea-dweller went off on a rant, Stroim took a seat, surveying the table. The trolls (and even a few humans) around it all belonged either to his protection squadron or to Ampora's entourage. All seemed rather similar, well dressed and high-blood looking, with their faces displaying various levels of blankness, interest or even vague amusement.

The sinking feeling of suspicion he'd been feeling was confirmed the moment he met Meerst's eyes. The troll scowled at him from where he sat close to Ampora- for once, Stroim almost felt like just sighing in response.

Of course he'd be partnered with his insufferable kismesis. Of course.

Zahhak and Ampora seemed to have finally reached an agreement, but the rest of the meeting was systematically interrupted by members of either side.

Still, from what Stroim gathered, someone had revealed (under duress) that there was a conspiracy within the very palace to try and kill the Empress. Two botched attempts that week, kept silent, had proved her right- so the Condesce had gathered a little “squad” to investigate.

Later, as they sat side by side in front of Stroim's husktop, Meerst groaned.

“I don't even have anything to say. This is getting ridiculous.”

“Then don't say anything.” Stroim replied, irked.

Being a rather silent type himself, more prone to observation than to conversation, he couldn't stand overly talkative types- which, of course, Meerst was.

“Pfft, right. You wish. So about the assassination, what are we going to be angling for? We can't just look into it at random, there's too many suspects.”

Forcing himself not to slam the teal-blood against the floor just so he could work in silence, Stroim managed to grit out: “Well, obviously it has to be someone close to the Condesce, speaking in terms of ranks.”

“And it's more likely to be a highblood, even though you'd think a lowblood grudge thing would be involved, seeing as most of the powerful high-ups at the palace are highbloods.”

“Hm. Possibly.”

“It could also be a human, though. There are some quite regular ambassadors, and people like English or Crocker would have prime access to HIC. Not to mention Harley and Egbert.”

“You think they have anything to do with it?”

“Well, they're all very close to those Strilondes, aren't they? English and Crocker and the elders, and then Harley and Egbert and the younger two.”

“Still, the Strilondes don't seem the type to do something so directly.”

“Don't they? Whoever did this isn't stupid, if they've managed to get away twice.”

“Yes, but it's pretty damn sure they'd be under close surveillance since the first attack, seeing as they're prime suspects and all. I doubt anything they did could go without being seen.”

“True...Although I feel like that wouldn't stop them.”

“Maybe not. In either case-”

To both their surprise, by the end of the day, they'd created quite the dossier- in fact, their work turned out to be the best by far, to the extent that they were actually congratulated by both their superiors upon presentation.

“Good work, Prelth, Thrant. This is quite the analysis.” Zahhak said, stiff as always, giving them a nod.

“Rest of you better start catchin' up.” Ampora continued in a disinterested tone, from where he was sprawled across Zahhak's sofa.

A muscle twitched in the blue-blood's forehead.

Stroim almost felt the corners of his mouth curl upwards in amusement. Instead, he remained politely interested whilst Meerst smirked for the both of them.

Zahhak cleared his throat. “Seeing as you two work efficiently together, I suppose you wouldn't mind taking care of the alpha operation of this case?”

Stroim's good mood faded rather quickly.

–----

Although his grievances were many and poor Avisya's schedule had to accommodate a lot more complaining, it didn't take too long for the two of them to settle into a pretty easy routine. In fact, a quite brief time later, they'd already narrowed their field down quite significantly.

Which didn't mean, of course, that Stroim didn't get extremely annoyed sometimes.

Especially when Meerst got into trouble.

“...so frustrating! I told him not to go after her, and what does he do?”

“He goes after her.” Avisya said, torn between amusement and annoyance.

“He goes after her! And then he ends up almost getting himself done in, like a bulge-sucking idiot, so of course I have to go save his worthless hide!”

Even through a phone call, and even in his current state of uncharacteristically loud anger, Stroim could sense the thoughtful mood his moirail entered.

“What?”

“Oh, it's just...You seem upset.”

“Well, yes! Did you not hear what we just talked about?” Stroim snapped, anger receding somewhat nevertheless. He recognised that tone, and it never bode well.

“You could even hypothesise you're a little...shaken.”

“Why would I be shaken? It's not like Thrant doesn't almost get himself killed on a regular basis.”

“Uh huh.”

“I'm not shaken.”

“Sure.”

“Okay, fine, then. Why, pray tell, am I shaken?”

His voice was a little too sharp and unfriendly for a moirallegiance, but he was still kind of bitter and also very irked.

“Because,” Avisya sing-songed, “I've already seen someone else act the exact same when they were worried.”

Stroim remained silent for a moment, allowing himself a deep breath. His composure was returning.

“You mean the very same asshole I'm complaining about, don't you.”

“It's textbook kismesitude, Stroim...” Avisya laughed, trailing off.

Stroim waited.

“...Except for when it isn't.”

“For when it isn't what?”

“Bye, Stroim. Pale for you.”

“Avisya! Don't-”

The next time Meerst got seriously injured, Stroim didn't even say a word to his snickering traitor of a moirail.

Even though, obviously, she was completely and utterly wrong in her assumptions.

(He did get revenge when she ended up flushed for the headscarf-clad human girl that worked on his floor, though.)

–---

It was about half a year later that Stroim finally met the two people that would consistently ruin his life in the years to come.

Meerst's division had been passing through, so he ended up listening to his kismesis babble over lunch.

“...So I'm like, clearly something is wrong here, you know, because this human is Rose Lalonde and she has the creepiest smile-”

“Agreed.”

“-Shut up, stop interrupting, jackass- anyway, so Rose Lalonde is just sitting here waiting for me and...”

Meerst trailed off to glare at him from where he lay draped across the couch. Stroim swivelled his chair a bit towards him, lowering his book.

“Yes?”

“Don't read while I'm talking, Prelth, it's rude.”

“Some of us can multi-task, you know.”

“Some of us couldn't care less. Put the book down.”

Stroim sneered. “I know you're desperate for attention, but this is pushing it.”

“Oh, please. You fall over your feet to see me, like, every week. Who's the desperate one here?”

“You're the one who can't stay away from my office.”

“I'm here for work.”

“I didn't know lying on my sofa counted as work in Ampora's department.”

Meerst pulled a face, as if conceding his defeat.

Stroim smirked, flicking a page pointedly as his kismesis glared.

“So, Lalonde?”

Meerst huffed melodramatically before shifting on the sofa and starting again: “Right, anyway, Lalonde is all “Sit down, Mr Thrant, do make yourself comfortable”, but the way she says it makes it sound like “You are about to be devoured by the ancient horrorterrors as I sit and laugh”, so I just sit politely and compose an epitaph. And then the weird part happens, as if the rest hadn't been disturbing enough, because Lalonde-”

The story was (thankfully) cut short by the door bursting open.

In the millisecond that Stroim put his book down, Meerst had (of course) found a way of flipping himself over so that he went from sprawled across the sofa to sitting neatly next to the armrest.

One day, Stroim thought to himself. One day he would fail at rendering himself presentable.

His thoughts took a sharp turn in another direction as he took in the appearance of the troll in front of him.

The fuchsia sash and golden badge on his shoulder meant only one thing- the guy came from the Condesce's office.

“Mr Prelth?”

Stroim nodded, even though he held no illusions that the guy honestly didn't know which one of them was Stroim.

The troll, still looking haughty and extremely disinterested, handed him a file, before stating in a flat monotone: “Come to the office, section B, room seven, in ten minutes. Don't be late.”

He turned on his heel and left, door shutting resolutely behind him.

There was a pause.

“I can't believe it!” Meerst drawled, in mock disbelief. “My requests to have you deported to Earth have finally been approved!”

“Shut up.” Stroim grumbled, distractedly. Even though he couldn't quite suppress the spike of fear that the bright pink had caused, most of him knew logically that this was almost certainly some kind of work for him.

He opened the folder cautiously, giving the papers inside a precursory glance before looking at them individually.

A case of some sort, obviously, as he'd suspected. The basic description tied in with the recent assassination attempts- Stroim was going to be sent out to evaluate the capacities of two individuals whose identities weren't revealed in the documents, and report back to the office.

From behind him, Meerst whistled lowly, leaning over to dig his chin painfully into Stroim's shoulder. “These two have to be pretty important for the Condesce to want them working directly for her, huh?”

Stroim grunted, trying to shake him off, then growling in annoyance when the other troll stayed firmly in place, somehow managing to make the position even more uncomfortable.

He gave up, resolving to shake him off later, before answering: “Not necessarily. The evaluation criteria is difficult- I doubt they're the only candidates who've been asked to pass this test.”

“Yeah, but the Condesce's office have never asked Zahhak's lot to go check them out, have they? If she's calling up one of her top workers' offices just to go and check on these two, that's got to mean she sees some extra potential in them, doesn't it? Not to mention-”

“We don't know that. Just because it's my first assignment on this case doesn't mean no one else in the department has gone on one.”

Meerst made a “pfft, please” sort of noise that vibrated against Stroim's neck. “Okay, first off, seeing as you've clearly demonstrated your superiority in the case we've been working on, thanks to me-”

Stroim rolled his eyes.

“-I doubt that she'd pick someone else for this kind of work. And secondly, even disregarding the Zahhak thing, the mere fact that she wants to bring in not one but two people who are apparently barely experienced in this sort of case, especially at this point in time where everyone in the top ranks is hyper paranoid, means that they have to be pretty special.”

Meerst fell silent, in the way he only did when he was smug in the knowledge that he was right, while Stroim mulled over his words.

Looking at it from that angle, Stroim had to admit that he was right.

Meerst often had a very different perspective on things, as his role in Ampora's clique meant he dealt with a very different sort of work than Stroim did- sometimes, it meant his insight was painfully wrong to Stroim, not to mention ridiculous, but at other times, it actually helped a considerable amount.

Not that he'd ever share that information- Meerst's ego was already large enough.

“You're right,” Stroim said primly, “That does seem logical.”

And, taking advantage of Meerst's stunned silence, he shook him off his shoulder.

–------

Avisya was texting him excitedly as he walked up to the office.

“i c@nt believe thi$ is @ctually happening!!! wonder who your @$$ignments @re....”

“I'll tell you as soon as I get ther3. Don't freak ou7.”

“oh, like you're not $ecretly h@ving @ ment@l bre@kdown!”

He could almost hear the eyeroll.

“in @ll $eriou$ness, you better tell me @ll the det@il$ fir$t- if $ome other new$p@per get$ the $coop first, you die.”  
  
Stroim snorted.

“I always knew the media was corrup7.”

“hil@riou$. contr@rily to popul@r belief, i don't @ctually kill people for $coop$.”

“Tell that to the pile of corpses in your secret evil scientist la8.”

He put his phone away before she could reply, stepping into the elevator after the security guards gave him a curt nod.

  
The amount of security around the palace was getting frankly ridiculous, to the point where Stroim was starting to suspect the Condesce was kind of doing it on purpose, just for the kicks.

Avisya, whose work was not too far away, in the centre of the city, had even been tailed when she'd come by for lunch once.

Stroim himself had almost been arrested when returning bloody and bruised from an assignment.

When he reached the tenth floor, the elevator came to a halt. Stroim swiped the golden card he'd been given through the machine, and it set off again with added obnoxious elevator music.

As he watched the numbers go, Stroim straightened, insides clenching against his will. No matter how composed you were, it was near impossible not to feel at least a little anxious as you entered the metaphorical dragon's lair.

The door slid open, and the blue blood stepped out, keeping his face impassive even as his eyes flicked about, taking everything in.

Although he was walking rather briskly down the hall, he could tell that the area was more richly decorated and luxurious than his own efficient department- the over-stuffed sofas, golden framed artworks and numerous chandeliers reminded him of Ampora's department.

He reached section B, which was down a glass corridor, and came to a halt in front of room seven.

He'd barely knocked once when a “Come in!” rang from inside the room.

Pushing the door open and sparing a glance for the clock (it had been precisely nine minutes since he'd been called up), Stroim took in the huge room, and the comparatively small amount of trolls present.

The Condesce, of course, was not one of them, a fact which both mildly relieved and mildly disappointed him- though he'd logically known that the Empress wouldn't deign to appear at a debriefing, especially for someone as comparatively lowly ranked as he was, the mere fact that it was her offices and her council had birthed the vague notion of her presence.

“Sit, Mr Prelth.” Agness Rivile said, gesturing to one of the chairs. Storm nodded, quietly registering her presence- she was one of the heads of the Empress’ security department.

An affair of utmost importance, it seemed.

“I’m sure we don’t need to waste any time on introductions,” the troll continued, eyeing him sharply through her round glasses.

Stroim inclined his head.

Rivile slid a tablet towards him.

For a few moments, the room was silent, watching him read the file.

When he had finished, Stroim put the tablet down carefully, before raising his head thoughtfully.

“Dave Strider and Karkat Vantas.”

Rivile was watching him rather intently, gauging his next reaction.

“You’ve heard the names?”

“It’s hard not to have heard of Strider.” Stroim said smoothly, side-stepping the question.

The senior official made a dismissive noise, waving her hand: “Answer the question.”

“Dave Strider. Twenty-three, human, recently followed his elder siblings’ footsteps and came to Alternia along with Rose Lalonde. High level security entourage.” He paused, contemplatively, before continuing: “My department examined his case for a while, but were told to lower the urgency of the project after nothing suspect was recorded.”

That, of course, only meant that no one had been able to find something incriminating enough- not for lack of want. Any creature with even the faintest trace of ambition had been sent groping for morsels on the Strilondes; searching for a way to do the seemingly impossible and finally get something concrete to throw them at the Empress’ mercy (or lack thereof).

People did the same with the Harley-Crocker-Egbert-English lot, but there was just something about the Strilondes…Obviously, the fact that Crocker and English were both the Condesce’s favourites counted against the success rates of whoever tried to investigate them (which had led to Stroim’s reluctance in the Crocker affair), but even so, the blonde pair (quatuor, now, he supposed) just had that je ne sais quoi that attracted people to them like flies.

Rivile’s sharp eyes glinted once, the others still as silent and impassive as they had been when he’d entered the room.

“As for Karkat Vantas, I’ll confess I’m rather ill-informed. He’s part of some branch of Threshecutioner, lowblood if I remember correctly.” Stroim searched his mind for anything else, stumbling upon a few details: “He’s been tied to quite a few large cases and people. Captor, Pyrope, even the Makara incident.”

He knew he’d hit gold when he’d finished speaking, just from the way the mood shifted subtly.

“Very good, Mr Prelth,” Rivile smirked, before shifting forwards.

“Now, here’s where you come in.”

——-

He’d sworn absolute secrecy, of course, but even so it was only normal for him to share the information with his quadrant mates .

Not that anyone expected Stroim to start spilling all the details to Avisya or Meerst- if they’d thought he was that emotional, he never would’ve reached even Zahhak’s offices.

The bare bones of the operation, well, that was a different matter.

Avisya was in his apartment, for once- sitting comfortably on the chair opposite his, her eyes shining with that lust for news that terrified her usual victims.

Stroim was used to it. Journalists.

“So you’ll be spying on them separately, then together? Hardly the exotic exploit you’d expect.”

“It’s of a slightly bigger importance than my usual work, Vi. If they’re deemed suitable, they’ll be assigned to the Condesce’s own Intelligence bureau.”

“And they’re fascinating people, of course.” Avisya conceded, with a shark-like grin.

“You would think so.” Stroim rolled his eyes.

“Dave Strider? Oh, come on. I’d love to sink my claws into that one. He’s a Strider, for one, and an excellent fighter, and those shades, and the ironic bullshit act- and he’s just as secretive as the rest of them…”

Stroim was decidedly uncomfortable with the sudden husky tone of her voice.

“Keep it in your pants, please. I’m already very aware of your weird scoop kink.”

Avisya snorted at that, but he caught her shifting in her chair.

“Don’t spoil my fun, dearest. You don’t get humans like that every sweep.”

“Thank gog for that.”

His moirail kicked him in the shin.

One very immature kicking fight later, Stroim managed to ask: “What about Vantas?”

Avisya’s gaze turned thoughtful (and, of course, rather hungry). “Good work ethics. Grouchy. Doesn’t like dirty work. Loud, but suspiciously silent about himself. Kind of a nobody.”

Stroim hummed.

Avisya said out loud what he’d been wondering since leaving the room: “Wonder why they’re pairing those two up.”

——-

He refused to tell Meerst about it for the next five days.

The first was out of mere politeness, so that Meerst could pretend not to care. (Complete bullshit- Meerst was one of the most obnoxiously nosy people he knew).

After that, well.

Textbook kismesitude.

Still, by the end of day five, he found himself quite literally with his back against the wall, bruised and bloody and sneering down at Meerst, who unfortunately had his fucking ridiculous battle-axe pressed up against his jugular.

Stroim squirmed, angling for an escape. Instead, the edge of the weapon dug rather sharply into his skin.

Meerst growled.

Right.

Maybe not, then.

Later, when they were both vaguely cleaned up, high up in Meerst’s office (why Ampora had to pretend his offices were ballrooms, Stroim would never know), Meerst’s claws tapped out a quick beat on the table as he mulled over what Stroim had said.

The constant tapping was decidedly annoying, but the blue-blood remained silent as he smoothed out his coat.

Meerst broke the silence, as he always did, with a sharp noise that thankfully interrupted the tapping. Stroim looked up.

“It’s a test.” Meerst said, hands reaching for paper and a pen, his eyes lit up and his tone victorious.

“No shit.”  
“No, no, Prelth, it’s a test- she’s putting the Strilondes under pressure, it’s…” Meerst trailed off as he transferred his thoughts onto the sheet, hands working fast as he bit distractedly into his lip.

Stroim watched him work, half-annoyed and half-engrossed. One the one hand, he was trying to figure out what Meerst already had, frustrated that he hadn’t seen whatever it was yet. One the other, he rarely ever saw his kismesis when he was in one of these moods- Meerst’s work always seemed to come effortlessly.

The focus and intensity he bestowed on the task at hand, Stroim had to admit, were probably a rather good explanation for the way Meerst climbed ranks like they were insurgent low-bloods and he was a Subjuggulator.

Meerst slammed the pen down, running a hand through his always pretentiously ruffled hair, before giving Stroim something resembling a sincere grin.

“She’s testing the Strilondes, Prelth. She’s putting Karkat Vantas on their case, because she thinks he can fucking crack Dave Strider. And she’s using Karkat Vantas because if Vantas fucks up, well.”

He smirked, fangs glinting. “Lowbloods are easily disposed of, and people like him set a good example.”

Stroim took it in while taking him in, his mind working with the other troll’s statement, laying out a concise, clear mind map.

“And if they manage to work together, somehow, she’ll have a near unbreakable little duo to use for her other investigations.”

Meerst spread his hands smugly, legs crossed on the desk.

“Finally caught up.”

Stroim closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“…And she’s counting on me to observe this operation.”

Meerst’s amused snort and subsequent cackling was enough for his headache to make a flamboyant return.

———

He let himself go on Sunday, a very rare occasion.

Instead of heading to the office or working at home, Stroim let himself spend the day in his sweatpants, eating sushi (he was willing to forgive humanity for existing in exchange for sushi) and listening to music.

He did go jogging, though. And he practiced kick-boxing. And he spent the evening obsessively collecting information about the two targets.  
But still.

By midnight, he realised it would be preferable if he was actually well-rested for the start of the task.

Stroim fell asleep with a frown on his face.

———-

Stalking Jane Crocker had been much easier than stalking Vantas and Strider.

He should’ve expected it, really- the low throbbing of a possible headache had been warning enough that it would soon turn into a painful, aching migraine.

  
Dave Strider was an insufferable prick.

Of that, at least, Stroim was certain. He wasn’t even talking about the human’s obnoxious attitude- no, what really drove Stroim to wanting to crack his fragile alien skull open was the smug way he simply vanished into thin air at any given time.

Following Strider was damned near impossible, and it shouldn’t have been. Stroim was good at this sort of thing, at following and observing and being just discreet enough not to ever alarm his target. And yet, even so, here he was.

He’d spotted a number of other tails behind Strider, which didn’t surprise him- but, as he knew, scornfully, none of them were even close to his level. It was almost insulting just watching them. No wonder the Strilondes roamed so freely if this kind of bumbling amateur was sent after them.

Still, Stroim wasn’t an amateur, or a complete idiot. Dave Strider shouldn’t have been able to lose him with such ease.

The young human seemed, impossibly, to be in two places at once- Stroim would be watching him, and then out of nowhere, there’d be a blur of movement and Strider would be on the other side of the street.

It was insufferable.

He wasn’t open to analysis, either. The shades were already a physical barrier to reading the man, but his bearing was even more of a pain in the ass. The easy arrogance and rambling “ironic” speeches were easy enough to see through, obviously- it was quite clear Dave Strider wasn’t at ease within himself, and Stroim had no doubt the guy had some kind of self-esteem issues, but beyond that he couldn’t get a firm grasp of the human’s character.

His relationships were also more confusing than expected.

Stroim had been working with humans for long enough to know how they operated- the concept of friendship wasn’t a stranger to him. He could tell quite easily that Strider’s close friendship with Egbert and Harley was no lie; nor was his affection for his sisters and brother.

Still, within the “family” itself was where it got strange- there was an underlying tension between the Strilondes, that Stroim couldn’t figure out. The tension itself was already hard enough to detect, but all he could see apart from its existence was that it culminated between the two brothers.

They split into pairs. The younger two and the older two. The brothers and the sisters. Dave and Roxy, Dirk and Rose.

In each group, there was just something off, a feeling of wrongness between the lot that wasn’t present in the other quatuor.

Still, he supposed he should’ve been grateful for the existence of Strider’s clique, because the only time he could study the man satisfyingly was when he was in the company of his friends and family.

Strider acted very differently depending on the person in whose company he was, which was hardly unheard of, but to an extent that surprised Stroim. It almost reminded him of the quadrant system- it was a given that you acted completely differently around your moirail and your kismesis.

By the end of the first week, Stroim had expected to be much more informed than he was- and yet, here he was on Sunday afternoon, watching Strider laugh at something his elder sister had said.

They were sitting in a café with Egbert and Harley, just a few tables away from Stroim; seemingly oblivious to the looks they were getting from the rest of the place. Humans were already rare in this area of town, and these ones in particular were well-known enough that coming here was looking for trouble.

Stroim was seemingly working away at some report for the office- which, he supposed, was what he was really doing- whilst paying attention to their conversation. It wasn’t to find some incriminating morsel of their laughing chatter (he was sure there was something he could use, but nothing that would be enough, and besides he wasn’t here to try), but more to further his understanding of his target.

It wasn’t easy.

Harley, cackling with her head thrown back, made him look up again. Egbert was snickering just as much, Lalonde was choking on her coffee, and Strider flung an over-dramatic arm over his face and affected a hurt expression. Stroim was reminded very strongly of Meerst.

“Betrayal. Betrayal of the worst kind.” Strider was now saying to a still-giggling Harley, his expression completely neutral. “How dare you insinuate I would choose anyone but John for my tender gay romance?”

At that, Lalonde really did start choking, whilst Egbert turned scarlet even through his dark complexion. Harley collapsed on the table, shoulders shaking, whilst her cousin sputtered.

Strider smirked, taking a sip of his own pretentious latté, and for a fleeting moment, Stroim could’ve sworn that their eyes met through his aviators.

Then Strider shifted in his chair, and Stroim turned back to his report.

Strider is efficient at keeping himself emotionally distant, although he carries a dangerous potential of hitting a breaking point at an unknown moment. His potential to take cases seriously is also doubtful at best. However, it is clear that Strider…

That Strider what? There was no clear way to express the certainty he had that Strider had much more to him that he wanted to let on- both in a positive and negative way.

Dave Strider was a difficult case to crack.

He pitied Karkat Vantas.

——-

Karkat Vantas was less insufferable than Strider by far, if only because he seemed just as done with everything as Stroim felt.

Vantas’ entire persona seemed defined by his never-ending irritation and tired rage.

Merely watching him curse and rant and grumble his way bitterly through life made Stroim feel a fraction less stressed about his own life.

Vantas, at least, had no tendency for disappearing- although he was surprisingly nimble for someone so loud and assertive, his annoyed, hunched posture was easy to follow through the winding streets of the lower town.

Stroim’s only struggle there were about the location itself- in the lower town’s drab colours, it sometimes got complicated to follow Vantas’ own grey colour scheme, especially when he himself was less street-wise in the low-blood areas than in upper-town.

For a highblood, Stroim was exceptionally apt at navigating his way through the seas of eternally paranoid lowbloods, ducking through alleys and clambering through dark and dirty passage-ways, but compared to the ease and skill he was used to having, he felt clumsy and out of place.

If he’d met Vantas through his job, Stroim might’ve dismissed him- angry, loud, vaguely obnoxious, good worker- but he thought he’d still have taken notice of the lowblood. Just like with Strider, there was something about him that immediately caught Stroim’s eye. Hidden depth, of course- but that was elementary to anyone in his line of work, and besides, most people had some depth to them.

Like Strider, though, Vantas had this- potential, maybe; a look in his eyes and a pace to his walk that actually brought out genuine interest on Stroim’s part.

Behind the self-hatred and attitude that screamed I HAVE ISSUES, Vantas was hiding a lot of things.

Unlike Strider, Vantas was at least pretty straightforward in his relationships- his best friend, Captor, was a yellow-blood and a psiionic that was on their radar and had been for a while. Captor was a hacker, too, and a damned good one- it wasn’t Stroim’s department’s job to deal with his sort, but he knew merely from other people’s complaints what a pain in the ass the guy was to catch.

Bizarrely, Vantas’ other closest friend seemed to be Terezi Pyrope.

Stroim had been extremely surprised when, upon finding Vantas in his apartment, he’d heard the Legislator’s well-known drawl ringing through the hall, pointy-toothed grin only getting an annoyed exclamation from Vantas where any other troll would’ve started running.

Unfortunately, the two were smart enough to be discrete, which was understandable. A lowblood nobody associating with Legislator Pyrope would stir a lot of trouble. Still, it frustrated Stroim when the most he got was fragments of conversations that mostly included cackling and shouting.

Vantas mostly kept to himself, though, somewhat of a lonely feeling to him even as he spent his days surrounded. Surprisingly (or perhaps not) he was pretty well-liked in his department.

Stroim, having managed to lure a couple of his co-workers into conversation after carefully crafting himself a convincing alter ego, had gotten mostly the safe response from everyone.

“What, Vantas? Yeah, I mean…Everyone knows Vantas, you know? He’s a bit, you know, intense, and way sensitive about shit, but like…He’s a decent guy, right? Decent guy. And he’s fair with the workload and shit, so.”

The anger thing was something that immediately had Stroim digging deeper, because people with random rage-fits and mood-swings were very much not the kind of people suited for this kind of job, but funnily enough, Karkat Vantas’ anger seemed a million times more stable than most people’s calm.

By the end of the second week, Stroim’s headache had lessened, but if the sinking feeling in his stomach was anything to go by, he knew it wouldn’t last long. Strider alone had been bad enough- with Vantas at his side, Stroim’s mental health levels would drop as low as Vriska Serket’s hemline.

Still, at least he’d been able to observe Vantas on the job- he had a peculiar albeit discrete aversion to blood and violence for someone in his line of work, which Stroim definitely made a mental note of.

On the last day of the week, he followed Vantas and Captor when they proceed to the arrest of an unruly, crazed psiionic.

The fight took place inside a warehouse, so Stroim melted into the shadows and waited for its conclusion. The street was empty and grim; it had cleared out as soon as Vantas and Captor had arrived, its inhabitants vanishing at the first sign of trouble with the law. The blue-blood looked around in vague distaste.  
The fight didn’t take very long. He heard screaming, clanging, windows shattering, and then the door to the place was blasted of its hinges, flying into the street past where he was hiding.

It took about ten more minutes for silence to fall, followed by loud complaints on Vantas’ part.

The yellow-blood was dead, her body limp and mustard coloured blood oozing from her eyes and seeping through her clothes. Captor was carrying her carefully, putting her down in the backseat of the car as Vantas silently passed him his coat to cover her.

For a moment, they stood watching each other quietly, a sense of tired regret in the air. Stroim remained motionless, eyes flickering from one face to another. Lowbloods didn’t have it easy.

Then Vantas sighed loudly, moving past the psiionic to climb into the driver’s seat. “Well, now that’s done, could we clear the fuck out of this bulge-licking shitstain of a street and get to somewhere where I can actually clean myself without getting an STD?”

Captor rolled his eyes. “You don’t have enough sex to get an STD, KK.” He climbed into the passenger’s seat as Vantas started protesting loudly, their voices muffled as they drove off.

Stroim stayed behind in quiet contemplation. Vantas’ comment had caught his attention- clean himself… Compared to Captor’s bruised and bloody complexion, he’d looked almost unscathed; like he’d been careful not to get severely injured.

Like he had his blood colour to hide.

“And the plot,” Meerst said later, in an affected drawl that made Stroim grit his teeth, “thickens.”

———

The plot, actually, took a surprising twist- someone tried to blow up Gamzee Makara.

Avisya was morbidly delighted. Stroim, and he supposed Meerst, were simply relieved- not their shit to deal with.

The lowbloods who’d started it had blown up with the bomb, or popped a pill before they’d been caught- this, more than anything else, had annoyed the Empress. No intel. It wasn’t Stroim’s department, but it was high-profile enough that Zahhak had been called in, and with him came a handful of workers that included Stroim. It irked him, because his schedule had been thrown off, and he’d be missing the initial meetings between Vantas and Strider, so carefully calculated.

But orders were orders, and besides, Makara was important with a capital i. Ran in the family, so to speak- rumour had it both his ancestors had been working for the Condesce. Makara wasn’t your average Subjuggulator-type crazed highblood, though- Stroim had never seen him anything but complacent and dreamy.

Behind the druggish sleepiness, there was a whole other troll, though. The cold-blooded, clear-minded killer was not someone Stroim was keen on ever meeting, let alone facing. Attacking Makara was attacking the Empress’ elite, and about as dangerous as it got. Makara was crazy strong behind his tall, lanky limbs, and when he went batshit, it couldn’t be pretty.

The meeting was pretty average, if more tense than usual, but the troll in charge was one of the dullest creatures Stroim had ever met. Which was saying something.

Meerst was very indiscreetly tapping away on his smartphone at the other side of the room, but no one was paying any attention- Ampora himself was scrutinising the ceiling, so it hardly mattered.  
There were a lot of departments being represented. Zahhak, of course, and Ampora, plus guys from Makara’s, and even a few reps from lowblood offices. Stroim’s eye had also caught on to three trolls sitting near the door- something vaguely off about their attitude told him they weren’t from the same network.

As if on cue, his phone vibrated urgently. He cast a glance at his folder (extremely basic), the speaker (ignored) and Zahhak (struggling to stay alert), before sliding it out of his pocket.

Meerst. Of course.

“>> Got eight eyes on us…<<”

Eight eyes. Stroim looked back at the three trolls, taking in their attitude, before stilling.

Eight eyes. Serket.

“They’re hardly discret3.”

“>> No shit. Serket’s m*king * st*tement.<<”

Meerst was being particularly astute today, Stroim had to admit begrudgingly. He shot another look at the speaker, but the guy was still droning on, so he reverted his attention to the screen of his phone.

“We’re too beneath her for her to take proper notic3. Of cours3.”

“>>But she’s sm*rt enough to listen to the Condesce, so she h*s to send /someone/.<<”

“Makara is kind of a bizarre choice for an assassination, thoug#. He’s a key target sure, and less well protected than Ampora and Serket, bu7…”

“>>I know. Ampor*’s confused as well. M*k*r*’s w*y unpredict*ble, *nd kind of * r*ndom choice. Doubt it’s got to do with the *tt*cks on the Empress.<<”

“Much less well thought out. This was distinctly amateur-is#. Not to mention stupi6.”

Stroim put his phone away, reflecting on their conversation. No, he was quite sure the Makara incident had nothing to do with the Condesce’s worries. She probably knew it too- he was starting to think this whole meeting was more a way of boring them to death for the kicks than actually being worried about her safety.

Even for someone who was an expert at acting interested in completely uninteresting things, Stroim had to admit that three hours of this bullshit was starting to get to him.

His phone buzzed insistently.

“>>Spe*king of clowns, where the fuck did they dig this one up? My thinkp*n is in *ctu*l p*in.<<”

Stroim glanced over at his kismesis, who pulled a face. Stroim rolled his eyes.

“I’m more or less certain the Empress hired him specifically because of his skil1. If you can call it tha7.”

Meerst snorted. Stroim turned his head away to hide his own responding smirk.

“>>I don’t doubt th*t *t this very moment, she’s sitting on * pile of money, l*ughing *t our suffering.<<”

Stroim was about to reply when Ampora loudly fell off his chair, which he’d been steadily tilting back to gaze at the ceiling. As the room jerked awake and the speaker’s drone was momentarily stopped, everyone’s eyes flew to the Prince, lying spread-eagled on the floor with his glasses askew.

Stroim, glancing sideways, could have sworn he saw Zahhak’s eyes glitter in amusement.

Meerst politely helped Ampora up, as the sea-dweller sputtered and huffed. When he’d straightened, he took in the room staring at him, cheeks colouring in embarrassment, before barking out a: “Well, I think we’ve heard enough- clear out!”

“But sir, ah, the meeting-”

“No one gives a shit about your stupid speech!”

The speaker stuttered, gathering up his things, as the rest of the room was spurred into action, practically sprinting to get out.

Meerst and Stroim were amongst the last to go, having waited for Ampora and Zahhak to briefly discuss some “top secret matters”. The blue-blood took the opportunity to check his tablet- his evening had been cleared to go and observe Vantas and Strider.

Meerst’s sharp eyes were on Serket’s people when he looked up- Stroim followed his gaze towards the trio, who were watching them back.

Zahhak and Ampora came out of the room before anything could be said, the latter looking smug and the former sweaty and disgruntled.  
“C’mon, Prelth, let’s get goin’. Things ter do.” Ampora started off down the hall, cape swishing behind him as he went.

“Of course, sir.” Meerst answered, smooth as anything, before turning to Stroim with a radiant smile. “Have fun at your baby-sitting. Don’t be sad if it’s a flop- you should be used to failures by now.”

His tone dripped honey; and that, more than the jab, made Stroim’s eye twitch. If he could just wipe that smirk off-

Zahhak coughed. Stroim turned sharply on his heel and very definitely did not look back.

It annoyed Meerst more when he left him hanging, anyway.

———

The bus ride downtown was quiet.

Stroim had thrown a grey coat over his work clothes to blend in with the crowd, sitting hunched over himself and looking out of the window to redirect glances away from him.

He was taller than the average lowblood by quite a bit, and his way of holding himself was pretty damn characteristic of the upperclass- even now, disguised as he was, he collected a number of odd looks.

He was silent enough for them to ignore him, and looked stressed enough to seem non-threatening- the last part wasn’t hard to do, because he was going crazy with anticipation.

Now, away from the office, he was enraged that he’d been pulled away from his task- all his calculated observations, all his quiet watching, without even being able to watch their first meeting? He was supposed to be an active participant in the initial meeting; he’d had the right to ensure things went as smoothly as possible, it was his mission.

With the Makara incident pulling him out, things had been left up to Fate, and Stroim hated ~destiny~ bullshit with a passion.

It was, simply put, unfair.

His entire career depended on how this assignment went. If Strider and Vantas had decided they hated each other (quite likely), and it had degenerated because Stroim wasn’t there, the blame of the failure would fall on his shoulders, and his only. He could lose his job.

Meerst’s earlier barb no longer seemed so weak.

Stroim clambered off the bus two stops early, sticking to the sidewalk and shuffling past people and down tiny passage-ways until he finally reached the address. He’d taken three hours to memorise all the little short-cuts that led to this “pub”, but he hadn’t expected the place to look quite so down-trodden. The roof, overgrown with moss from the damp air, was on the verge of collapsing. The windows were dirty, dusty and cracked, almost turned a glassy brown. The wooden pillars were bent over, the stone exterior was cracked, debris lied all around, and drunken brawling could be faintly heard from outside.

Stroim was not fooled.

The sound of two men’s footsteps made him jolt, moving fluidly to behind a wooden structure next to the building. It was unnecessary, he supposed- his spying task was over for now, but old habits die hard. Besides, he needed to assess the situation before interfering.

Strider and Vantas had come from two opposite directions.

It was the troll who spotted him first, coming to a halt a few steps away from the taller human. From where he stood, Stroim could see all of him, and Strider’s back- Vantas’ scowl, if possible, seemed even more pronounced than usual. It didn’t bode well.

“Finally decided to show your bony ass?” Vantas spat out, looking positively furious already. “It’s not like I showed up two hours ago and you decided to ignore me completely.”

Shit, Stroim thought. Of course Strider would choose now of all times to be a dickhead.

“Y’know, for someone who doesn’t like me much, you sure talk about my ass a lot.” Strider replied, disinterestedly smug.

“Y’know, for someone with such a tiny thinkpan, you sure talk a lot of hoofbeastshit.” Vantas snapped back, mockingly.

Strider snorted just as Stroim bit half a smile back.

“Hoofbeasts? Really? Y’all couldn’t invent a word that didn’t sound like it was made up by a three year old?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, are our translations not good enough? Maybe if your useless plague of a race had the competence to master our language, you wouldn’t have to deal with them, you ungrateful insipid nookstain!” Vantas shouted, in a crescendo of fury that left Stroim’s ears ringing.

“Way to be discrete, nubby-horns. We’re supposed to be sneaking up on these people, not inviting them downstairs with a boombox outside the window like it’s 1999 and we’ve just found ourselves in a romcom.”

For a second, Stroim was almost certain Vantas was going to put an end to the human’s life right there and then. Instead, the troll let out a very low growl, screwing his eyes shut and and exhaling slowly.

“Deep breaths. Think of your happy place.” Strider mocked, his tone a perfect parody of an anger management class.

Vantas did a full-body twitch before cracking one eye open and giving a glare so filthy that Stroim felt vaguely voyeuristic.

“Strider, shut the fuck up.”

“Or else?”

“I don’t have the time for your shit.”

“You’re the one who’s wasting time by fussing.”

“You’re the one who fucking-!” Vantas stopped short, looking bizarrely demented (Stroim wondered if he could take his rage and Strider’s chill and somehow fuse them into a rational person).

With his stance tense and stock-still, the troll grit out: “Look, Strider, I know you’re pissed because the rest of your family thinks you’re a pathetic piece of shit and sent you off to kindergarten duties, but that really isn’t a situation I care about, so suck up your sad little issues and get over yourself.”

Change of tactics, apparently.

Strider twitched.

It was so quick and subtle it was almost unnoticeable. The keyword being almost.

Stroim, trained all his life to notice the unnoticeable, caught Vantas’ eyes narrowing briefly in triumph. It seemed that he wasn’t the only sharp-eyed troll in the area.

“Way to project, dude. That was way TMI for a simple biz op.” Strider sighed, sounding even more bored now; but there was an edge underlying his words which hadn’t been there before. “You sure you don’t need some professional help? We care for your well-being, you know. Rose would be delighted to have you.”

Vantas didn’t even bother to respond, having decided that the issue was resolved. He turned away from the human to stomp towards the door, exiting Stroim’s line of vision. Strider scoffed, but followed lazily, his slouching form quickly disappearing behind the troll.

Stroim stayed put as they eased the door open, waiting patiently.

First meetings had gone terribly, obviously. Now he could only hope they hated their targets as much as they hated each other.

———

Stroim didn’t allow himself to relax his stance while he waited for the duo. Lowblood, makeshift shacks weren’t the safest place for people like him to begin with- next to a dangerous maniac’s trafficking cartel wasn’t where he intended on going down.

Still, his intense awareness had to have faded at leat a little by the time the screaming reached him, because otherwise he wouldn’t have had the impression of being jerked out of a stupor. Knives instinctively between his fingers, the blue-blood stood without moving for a moment, senses focused on the screaming, shouting and general sense of destruction coming from within.

Vantas wasn’t the one shouting, which would have alarmed him if he hadn’t noticed the troll’s quiet during missions with Captor. The lowblood’s intense concentration on the task was commendable.

Strider, meanwhile, seemed to be shit-talking still- the low hum of a voice was only barely audible underneath the clanging and roaring.

Stroim assessed the situation. After some quick contemplation, he decided on still letting things play out: interfering would ruin his mission, and the simple fact that the fight hadn’t yet resulted in both the pair’s deaths meant that some part of it wasn’t going completely wrong.

His knives flipped obediently back to inside his sleeves. Stroim, alert now, took the opportunity to check his phone.

Fifty-three notifications. Mostly from the office, even though Zahhak had assured him he’d make sure he wasn’t disturbed, and then a couple from Meerst (memes, he bet. fucking memes.) and a few more from Avisya.

Ignoring the others, he swiped rapidly to view his moirail’s messages. Ignoring Meerst came naturally, of course- it was far more difficult not to quickly glance at his work messages, but he knew he’d start dividing his focus between his tasks at work and the one at hand, so it had to be done.

“how$ the mi$$ion going? hope you h@ven’t gotten yourself killed yet…”

“or, yknow, more re@li$tic@lly, $tre$$ed so much you h@d @n @neurysm @nd died.”

“re$pooooond”

“@l$o: @re you free next sund@y? i w@s thinking of inviting $er@h over to fin@lly meet my (other?) qu@dr@nt-m@te…”

“good thing neither $he or i @re p@rticul@rly prone to emotion@l i$$ues…im@gine how much more i would h@ve $truggled to b@g you if we h@dn’t known e@ch other $ince we were grub$…”

“@re you offended now”

“prelth, get your toned @$$ in gear and check your phone.”

Stroim snorted, but recognised the teasing jab. As satisfied as he was with his quadrants, he hated initiating romance of any kind.

Moiraillegiance with Avisya had come as naturally as breathing, because he’d known her for what felt like forever. They’d been pale with each other since their first meeting; all that had changed with time was their realisation that they were also pale for each other. Kismesitude with Meerst had been a more complex affair, but luckily kismesitude was a rather straight-forward thing. Upon their first meeting, with both of them just barely at the edge of young adulthood, Stroim had taken one look at Meerst’s effortlessly arrogant stance and sharp eyes before deciding subconsciously he needed to smash his face in.

It had taken him a while to begrudgingly admit to Avisya that the way every little thing the other troll did grated at him and his burning desire to take everything about Meerst and rearrange him until he was better might be slightly pitch, but it had only taken about two scuffles for a raging fight to turn into painfully pleasant making out.

One of the many things Stroim hated about Meerst is that he made him lose his cool. Stroim was composed; it defined his very being. He was always a step ahead of everyone. And yet, every single thing Meerst did, every tic and every mannerism just inspired such a raging fury at how wrong he was that Stroim completely blew it.

(What enraged him most of all was that Meerst, in return, got a kick out of making Stroim crack.)

Meerst just had so much potential- and he wasted it utterly with his fucking incompetence at being anything but a pain up the waste-chute. If he could only see that Stroim’s way was the right one-

Well, the blue-blood reflected wryly, forcefully attempting to improve one’s kismesis was one of the basic principles of kismesitude.

Still, hating Meerst was, if not as natural and easy as being pale for Avisya, a universal constant. Of course he hated Meerst. A world in which the two had met and not become kismeses would be profoundly wrong.

In other quadrants, however, Stroim’s attempts were weak at best and non-existent at the worst. He had no time for a matesprit, to put it simply, being occupied enough as it was, and as for an auspitice, well, it had always been the rather more useless quadrant. If Avisya went on yapping about it, she might as well drop the diamond and go for him and Meerst, as he’d told her snidely. No, he didn’t need any more quadrants in his life. He most certainly didn’t take offence at a simple jab.

There was a sudden earth-quaking crash, making him jump, and then the door burst open.

Strider and Vantas were both covered in blood, Strider harbouring a crazed grin as he swung his sword around, Vantas wiping a smudge of green out of his mouth with a scowl.

They were fucking insane, Stroim reflected, distantly. Completely fucking insane.

“-Fair demonstration, no?” Strider was saying, easy arrogance in his stance.

“I wouldn’t call that bullshit a demonstration.” Vantas snapped, but there was a lively glint in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot you weren’t cut out for violence.” Strider mocked, coming to a halt.

“I’ll show you violence.” Vantas muttered, so black it made Stroim almost embarrassed.

Strider stumbled over his next reply, cheeks turning red as his brows shot up.

“What? At a loss for words?” Vantas inquired, leaning forwards with a sneer. His lips were blood-spattered.

“Me? Never.” Strider answered, slipping his sword into its holster with something resembling a smirk.

“I wouldn’t be so sure.”

“What, you gonna make me?”

“Wouldn’t you just like that?”

Stroim decided it was best he leave.

He didn’t need to feel that voyeuristic.

  
——

It took him slightly longer than expected to return to his work place, mainly because a fight broke out on the bus and Stroim ended up having to pull out his knives and interfere.

By interfere, he meant cut someone’s arm off.

Back at his office, Stroim wrote a report that verged on becoming an essay, stating loudly and clearly that Vantas and Strider were more than capable of dealing with large threats but were also probably large threats themselves (especially to his sanity).

"….regardless of their clashing personalities, it would be an accurate prediction to assume that Vantas and Strider will soon fall into a functional work relationship. Although perhaps not the most classic of teams, I am of the opinion that with some time and encouragement, the two will prove extremely effective in the defence of Her Imperial Condescension’s esteemed person."

It was late; he had work to catch up on and messages to reply to. The building was almost empty, for once- it was around one in the morning on a weekend day, after all.

Stroim hesitated for a moment as he examined the report, deciding to go drop it off in the Empress’ department after all.

Swiping his card and suffering through another bout of elevator music, he allowed himself to close his eyes for a moment, exhausted.

Work in the offices, they said. It’ll just be a lot of paperwork and bureaucracy.

Sometimes, the temptation to turn into a berserk, wall-punching blue-blood stereotype was very strong.

The doors pinged open and Stroim stepped out, taking his time to glance at his surroundings now that he was in no hurry. The floor was mostly dark, lights off in nearly all the offices, casting an ominous glow on the decorations.

What would it be like working for the Condesce herself?

Stroim sighed, resisting the urge to run his hands through his hair. Ruffled hair was not his style, no matter how often he ended up with tousled curls by the end of the day. Cracking his back slightly, he resumed walking, heading over to Rivile’s office. His footsteps echoed neatly on the marble floors, shadow stretching far in front of him like some bizarre distorted creature.

The office door was closed, but the light was still on. Stroim paused in front of the door, listening, hand hovering. The low hum of voices made him step away.

He wasn’t in the mood for polite niceties. He’d just leave the file in the box on the wall.

Having accomplished said task and waited to hear the file clunk at the bottom of the box, Stroim turned around to head back, his thoughts now focused on a good night’s sleep (that would probably end up being a sleepless night, but the idea was nice).

He was almost at the elevator when someone piped up from behind him.

“So, what did you think of Vantas and Strider?”

He didn’t quite recognise the voice, but it was familiar enough for him to press the button before turning around.

“Complete fucking psychopaths.” Stroim answered dryly, watching the elevator climb floors.

He turned around, opening his mouth to inquire why his interlocutor cared, before freezing in abject terror.

The Condesce gave a cackle, shaking her head, apparently oblivious to Stroim’s stupor.

“Ain’t that the glubbin’ truth.”

It was actually her.

Stroim was standing in front of Her Imperial Condescension, ruler of Alternia and its satellite states, Conqueror Supreme, Empress of the Eons, alone and at night.

It was surreal, and yet it was her- the statuesque size, the mass of curls, the dazzling amounts of golden jewellery, the curves, the trademark fuchsia lipstick…

Incapable of saying anything, Stroim just clamped his mouth shut and attempted not to have a stroke.

The Condesce seemed unperturbed, giving him a shark’s grin. “Lookin’ forward to reading your report, Prelth.”

With that, she sauntered off, hips swinging and hair swishing behind her.

The elevator dinged.

Stroim almost fell over his own feet trying to get it, missing the button thrice with his shaking fingers.

Gog, he was going to die.

——-

He didn’t quite know how he’d ended up there, but he couldn’t seem to unglue his finger from the doorbell, so he let the strident noise continue even as the lights flipped on and someone complained loudly from inside.

His finger was still on the doorbell when said door swung open with a loud bang.

“What the fuck do you-” Meerst began, in an enraged growl. Although he was in pyjama pants and his hair was a mess, Stroim could make out the glint of his axe in the shadows.

“Prelth, I don’t know how long it’s going to take you to understand this,” Meerst snapped, tone changed, “But some of us actually do enough pailing not to show up in the early morning at people’s houses.”

Stroim stared at him.

Meerst, about to make another snarky comment, stopped. Stared. Took in Stroim’s appearance.

“Jegus, Prelth, you do realise I’m not your moirail, right? Whatever trauma you’ve been through, I don’t give a shit.”  
“I just spoke to the Condesce.” Stroim managed. Simple frustration was battling his terror.

Meerst snorted. “Yeah, sure. Get the fuck out.”

“She told me she was looking forward to reading my report.”

Meerst gave an annoyed huff, and then cut himself off, staring. “You’re serious.”

“Do I look like I’m in the mood for joking?” Stroim burst out, vaguely hysterical.

“Oh, jegus.” Meerst said, paling suddenly. “She told you she was- You’re going to die.”

“No fucking shit!” Stroim almost yelled, finally cracking. “Why do you think I look like I’ve been hit by a bus?”

Meerst just gaped at him, wide-eyed, before yanking him inside. “Okay, fuck, okay. Shit. You can stay.”

Stroim let himself be dragged to the guest room, and then Meerst let go of him and looked him up and down, arms crossed.

“Why didn’t you just go see Avisya?”

“She’s my moirail.” Stroim responded, slowly. “I didn’t exactly want her to start a campaign against the Condesce.”

Meerst tilted his head consideringly. “I see your point.”

For a moment, the two just stared at each other, Meerst’s arms crossed over his chest and Stroim subconsciously rubbing at his forehead.

“Stop looking at me like that.” Meerst muttered, almost awkwardly. It was an unfair complaint- Stroim wasn’t looking at Meerst like that, rather just looking at anything his eyes focused on like that. “Jegus. Only you would get yourself in this kind of situation.”

Stroim bristled. “Right, like this is my fault.”

“Whose is it, then? Mine?” Meerst scoffed. “No one but yourself to blame.”

“I’m hardly one to cause this kind of issue.” Stroim seethed, before realising that Meerst was baiting him just to distract him from his current panic. “Oh, wow. Real cute. I’m so imp-”

The rest of his sarcastic reply was interrupted by Meerst slamming him against the wall and biting at his lips hard enough to make them bleed all over his suit.

Stroim saw pitch, and forgot about the impending death threat for a while.

——-

The sun was shining dimly outside.

He woke up aching all over- his cuts and bruises from the fight only worsened by the previous night’s scuffle- and spread out over Meerst.

Said troll was passed out, light blue scratches all over him, head pillowed in his arms, and Stroim pulled himself off him with a stifled groan. His head hurt.

Tiredly, Stroim groped for his phone, wincing at the notification count. He had so much work to do.

If he died because of fucking Strider and Vantas, he would murder them.

**Author's Note:**

> One down, two to go. The next two chapters contain far less introductory rambling and far more Dave and Karkat. 
> 
> Reviews are much encouraged, thank you for reading.


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